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by Tadeusz

Cereal Novel: You Elsewhen: Seventh Bowl

June 30, 2010 in Blogs

You dream of talking Scotty dogs in kilts, and white wigs eating parsnips, and wake to female giggles. Rubbing your eyes of sleep, you spot two bewigged gal-pals conversing in the next room. One turns and smirks at you, pointing her legs at her legs which are trouser covered with a bright blue felt. The other hushes her, and smiles kindly at you.

Her eyes enchant, but evidently you are a transvestite here, wherever here is. And pretty young things are not typically impressed by cross-dressing.

They finish touching up their wigs, which evidently collected dust, and redonned them like a pair of English judges ready to sentence a cross-dressing lunk to social exile.

And then they came over to you, and the divine smell of freshly cleaned female with a light flowery scent abruptly ran into your stink from several days of hiding out. They speak to you in some language you do not know. Evidently, the sink can understand your thoughts, but humans can not. It had to happen sometime. Machines got smarter than man.

With fresh smiles, they urge you to your feet. Staggering a bit, you rise, and try not to look so be-shambled with your creased shirt you had slept in.

They led you to a wall and it ramped open to an elevator. Inside, very close to two lovely ladies, which did not seem to bother them. Up. The door opens.

Around a corner through a corridor, with English signs, and into a sizable square room. Hundred feet across, and a lofty fifty feet dome. Hardwood tongue and groove echoes under your feet bringing the eyes of the three hundred, maybe four hundred people your way.

They are sitting bunched tightly on long benches of variable length of glossy hardwood lathe with a smoothly rolling design. The benches are divided into four groups, each facing each other, in a giant square, with each group a flat-topped triangle which left a hollow square in the center.

There a man in a fancy kilt with a green beret beamed at you as the girls led you down the nearest aisle between the two triangles. With a sinking feeling, and the sound of your three footsteps echoing through the whole large room, you realize the girls intend to take you down to shake the smiling man’s beefy hand, and then plunk you down in the front row of the triangle to your left.

It feels rather as if you were entering your senior year high school auditorium at the wrong high school, in your underwear, and all the listeners are Swedish. And you don’t speak their language, but you’re expected to deliver a speech.

You slow your feet, but eventually, you come to the end of your green mile, and the man at the front claps your hand, and says something warm which everyone can hear.

Eek.

He obviously expects a reply.

Now It’s a Series

June 30, 2010 in Blogs

With the release of the third article in the Adapting series, it now covers two books, and can be said to be more than one two-part article.  This one, Adapting Stasheff’s Escape Velocity, is I think considerably longer than the last, but this is because the book offers a wider variety of potential settings plus a driving plot into which a player character could easily be drawn.

It was part of a flurry of typing I did yesterday, trying to catch up notes to articles.  I’m concerned about the fact that none of that work was on the temporal anomalies materials, the only online articles for which I am currently paid; that, though, is my own fault, as I could have put the time into those, or into fixing the problems that prevent me from collecting on my articles here (bad links on M. J. Young Net disqualify me from Google Ads registration, but it’s such a massive site it’s daunting to attempt to track them all).  It also concerns me because I have deadlines to meet on those and not on these; but then, finishing this article, starting the organization of the next, and getting the notes started on yet another is a good shot in the arm for the series, so I should be more encouraged.

It doesn’t help that I’m tired.  I was up at the 9-5 Equivalent of three this morning–that’s nine o’clock for you regular nine-to-fivers, but since it’s six hours before the three-to-eleven shift starts, it’s terribly early for me.  I had to be up so that an air conditioning repairman could give me the news to give my wife, that the central air repair will cost about ten times as much as she thought the high end might be.  Then when I thought I was going to get a bit more sleep, there was another interruption, so I’m running on coffee, of which I really ought to go get another refill.  Fortunately, today is cooler, and the computer is running a bit more stable.  (I also had the bright idea of placing one of those two liter soda bottle racks under it to get better circulation, but I don’t know whether that’s really a contributing factor or not.)

So with that, let me see if I can get focused enough to remember what else I’m supposed to do today.

–M. J. Young

Adapting Stasheff’s Escape Velocity

June 30, 2010 in Articles

The interstellar democracy is on the cusp of collapsing into a totalitarian dictatorship, and members of the LORDS party are all too eager to place themselves at the head of the new regime which they will bring about by promises of efficiency in government.  One man has proof of the plans of those involved, but because of their maneuverings he is in no position to deliver it to the chief executive Louhi Kulvero (called Secretary-General in the early chapters but later Executive Secretary; it appears to be an error in the writing, not intended to indicate a change in the title).  He seeks someone willing to accept the mission of carrying the message from the outer extremes of human space to Earth itself, and to find a way to deliver it.

This government, the IDE (Interstellar Dominion Electorate), has stood for about five centuries, but will not stand for another.

Like our first article in this Adapting series, this article looks at a book which came to me bound with another, the first of two parts of To the Magic Born by Christopher Stasheff, but was originally published under its own title, Escape Velocity.  It happens that I am adapting the second book in that volume in great detail as I run it for a player, and I anticipate learning much about that book from that run, although it may be a while before it appears in this series.  Meanwhile, the first volume is also interesting, and has potential as a game story.  Further, although in a very real sense this book is the prequel to that, they are so completely separated from each other that the only characters in both–a several thousand year old computer and a ghost–do not remember their involvements in the critical events of the first that lead to the setting in the second.  Reading this discussion will not interfere with playing that world.

The book provides a sort of race and chase plot through several interesting settings; a player character could be introduced at any of several points along the way and could move with the main characters or fall into the developing sidestories of those other worlds.  The author uses several mnemonic tools including drug names and twists on names of famous people and turns on words; those the referee spots will be helpful for him, but those which are obscure are not worth learning.

We’ll start with a quick overview of the major characters.  They are distinguished as “major” by virtue of the fact that they appear in multiple “acts” of our story; other important characters appear in one part of the story and then vanish.  The plot itself will be divided into “Acts”, which will be our way of moving the characters from one point to another.

There is at least a chance of positioning the verser as the main character in the story as written, although the referee is able to do otherwise and still put the verser in the primary story.  As a convict on a prison planet placed there by administrative fiat by an angered military superior, Dar Mandra has good reason to want to get away from the planet Wolmar and go see the wonders and comforts of the nearly fully urban Earth (where there are still a few parks, such as the Rockies, but most of it is city and most of the people are bored and trapped in their place in the universe, according to Samantha “Sam” Bine who fled the place).  Dar has some basic computer skills, is a low-level professional teacher trained to mid professional level as an army pilot with extensive knowledge of the army’s quartermaster’s office systems–how to get what you need delivered where you want it.  Only the piloting skill is put to use, but he is the logical choice for keeping the plot on track.  He also has some wilderness stealth skills which are used at one point, but are not particularly prominent.

Dar’s first role is to introduce Sam to Wolmar, so as to shift her understanding from seeing it as a settlement of conscripted colonists (the prisoners) stealing the world from the established native settlers (the Wolman, human descendants of an earlier “back to nature” group) to a place of hope with a growing democracy and unity with a developing unified economy.  He works for “Cholly” ostensibly as a trader, but surreptitiously as a teacher bringing the natives an understanding of philosophy, technology, science, economics, politics, and other fields of study.  He enlisted in the army and became a space tug pilot, then was assigned to quartermaster corps, where he attempted to correct an intentional mistake and got administratively routed to prison entirely by the manipulation of red tape and alteration of computer records.  Described as slim, Dark Egyptian skin color, he was a pilot, then stock clerk, then studied data processing, promoted to corporal, and knows all codes for all army platoons and naval ships.  He is given the temporary name “Ardham Rod” (“Dar Mandra” reversed by sound) by Cholly when disguised on Wolmar, and is later dubbed Perry “Pa” Tetic, given the position of commercializing scripts, by Tod when they are masquerading as a film crew in Act V.  He is trained in hand-to-hand and disarming techniques, and in wilderness stealth skills.

Samantha Bine, known as Sam, was an experienced clerk in the Bureau of Otherworldly Affairs (BOA) who dropped out to join the leading “non-comformist” faction of the universe, the “Humes”.  As a Hume, she shaved her head and wore the least flattering dull flannel outfit possible, which causes her to conform to all the other non-comformists in the universe.  As Cholly explains at one point, non-comformists dating back to the English Puritans have always been more unified in their conformity to each other than are the members of that society to which they refuse to conform.  It gives her the advantage that other Humes will recognize her and will provide assistance even at significant risk to themselves against the “outsiders” that comprise the law, govermnent, and society.  She also matters because she is psionically gifted, referred to in the story as a “telepath” but using several distinct abilities.  She never reveals them.  Those with whom she travels are so completely unware of her gifts that when their adversaries broadcast accusations that there is a dangerous telepath traveling in their group the group writes it off as propaganda intended to bend opinion against them.

At various moments in the book, Sam might project thought.  She understands how to operate ship communications, and is notable for her sleight of hand skills when she rifles luggage and removes credentials unperceived.  She also picks a primitive combination lock after “listening” for sound outside, finds path through a pitch black labyrinth, anticipates traffic in halls and avoids occupied cells, and picks a second lock in total darkness.  Cholly gives her the temporary name “Enid Mas” (which is “Sam Bine” reversed by spelling) when she is disguised on Wolmar.  She is dubbed Unit Manager Ori Snipe during the film company ruse, and ultimately becomes Lady Loguire.

There is a major villain, Canis Destinus, who appears in the first act but who remains on the edges of the story and is not named until considerably later.  He begins as ostensibly an Aide to Bhelabher, described as rat-faced or fox-faced.  We gradually learn that he is half cousin (son of father’s half-brother) to Father Marco, and is working for IDE Secretary for Internal Security, a LORDS party member.

In the third act, three more major characters join the cast.  The most important of these is Tod Tambourin, also known as Whitey the Wino.  No one knows Whitey is Tod except his companions–the outer rim people know Whitey the drunken entertainer, while those in the Terran region know Tod, Poet Laureate of the Terran Sphere.  He is described as a lean, short, aging man who looks as hard as a meteor and merry as a comet, with stark white hair, eyes so light blue they are almost colorless, skin weathered and toughened but with a bleached look.  Dar’s first impression of him is of a skinny pincer-like hand, and he limps when rushing.  According to grandaughter Lona, he would come between a man and his wife only if he had the chance.  On stage he plays a flat keyboard which he otherwise keeps under his tunic.  He is a brilliant writer and good singer, and also reasonably skilled in fisticuffs.  To escape Falsaff he buys a surface-to-surface navy surplus scout ship, christening it “Ray of Hope”.  It is later destroyed.  He mentions at one point that he was once an engineer, so he has some understanding of ships and ship systems.  Being quite wealthy, he buys another ship in Act IV with cash in his pockets.

The most significant of the three characters to join the cast in Act III is Lona, whose last name is never given but is probably also Tambourin as she is Tod’s grandaughter.  He insists that she call him “Uncle”, which she is quite content to do once everyone within earshot knows the truth of their relationship, because of a commitment to honesty in the little things.  Described from Dar’s perspective as the body of Venus outlined by a flowing sleeveless calf-length gown that clung to every curve, high smooth brow, delicate eyebrows, large wide-set eyes heavily lidded, small tip-tilted nose, mouth with a hint of a smile, tawny hair rippling to her waist, with a singing voice as sweet as spring and clear as a fountain, she also has piloting skill and skill with nearly any machine, particularly if it has electronic parts.  She is dubbed Fulva Volpes, Assistant Director and Director of Editing, when her grandfather is creating a cover story.  The planetoid Maxima, a dead world filled with extremely wealthy computer and robotics experts, sounds like heaven to her.

The third character to join in act three is Father Marco Rice, Order of St. Vicoden of Cathode (O.S.V.), an order whose members are all engineers or scientists in addition to being priests, and who carry a small yellow-handled screwdriver in the breast pocket as a symbol of their order.  He demonstrates skills at physical crowd control, blocking people out of a fight; it is implied that he would be able to fix the important parts of a computer-operated spaceship, but his precise skills are never discussed.  He is described as a little stout, which is relatively slender given that on Falstaff where he meets them most of the people are incredibly fat.  He is later dubbed Coburn Helith, research & script development, when Tod is creating his film crew cover story.

The final major character is Fess, or that’s what Lona calls him.  He is the robotic brain controlling the second spaceship they purchase, from an asteroid miner.  Properly he is designated FCC651919, but Lona wants to be able to call him something that establishes a rapport between them, and “Fess” is her choice for how to pronounce the three-letter opening acronym, which stands for Faithful Cybernetic Companion.  Fess cannot resist accuracy in mathematics.  Its prime overriding instruction is the sanctity of human life, and it otherwise obeys its owner completely.  Fess suffered damage to a capacitor in an accident.  A circuitbreaker bypass was installed, which shuts down all systems when stressed.  Designed on Maxima as a brain for a humaoid robot, when he joins the team he is running a “burro boat”, a rather maneuverable but relatively slow utility craft with practical tools on the exterior.  His previous owner is discussed in Act IV.

Maxima, a planetoid in Sirius’ asteroid belt, makes computers and robots.  It has no atmosphere, no trees or grass, but is all rocks and dust.  It is said that there is nothing to do but design and build computers, which are the best in the galaxy, and laze in luxury with three robots per person and the computer people all very rich from the industry.  It is also 8.7 light years from Terra, which Lona regards close enough for weekend excursions if desired.  Fess was designed and built there.

Act I:  Wolmar

The planet Wolmar is an army prison planet, very like eighteenth century Australia in space.  It has a 28 hour day, so noon is at 14:00.  Some years back, General Shackler, an army psychiatrist, was sent to serve as Governor, effectively warden of the planet.  However, the planet was not uninhabited; there existed other humans, descendants of a long-past back-to-nature settlement.  They opposed the presence of the prisoners.  Shackler decided that running it as a prison was not going to be the best approach, particularly given that he was anticipating the fall of the central government which would cut off support from the outside.  Thus in a skillfully plotted string of moves he removed the prison guards, allowed the prison population to degenerate into gang warfare, waited for the locally indigenous Wolmans to attack to force the gangs to unite for their defense, advised the prisoners as to battle strategy (the warden’s secure quarters had high-tech surveillance gear to give him a view of events), and when the dust settled accepted when they voted him to the position of governor of their new budding democracy.  He has since been guiding them in the building of a government and working toward peace with the Wolmans.

Part of that peace includes that the war continues, but in an orderly and relatively safe fashion.  Battles are scheduled for 8:00 AM and 2:00 PM, 8 hours apart, and soldiers from the prisoner’s city compound meet outside the walls with attackers from the Wolman tribes, everyone taking a chalk stick and fighting a combat in which to be marked with chalk is to be removed from the fight to the sidelines, where refreshments are served and the prisoners and Wolmans chat and get to know each other.  When the battle is declared finished by the commanding officers of both sides, a cash settlement is made based on the number of men each side has marked of the other, and individuals also pay out of pocket to the opposing warriors who marked them.

Trade is conducted by traders like Dar who are actually teachers.  They casually mention technological products, but they don’t sell the products–they sell the manuals and the parts, and let the Wolmans learn how to build their own and so learn how they work.  It is all done quite cordially.  This work is mostly overseen by Charles T. “Cholly” Barman, one of the most famous educators and educational theorists in the galaxy formerly at the University of Luna whose proposals that educators shouldn’t teach in classrooms but one-on-one in life situations in which they have cover jobs made him enough powerful enemies that he fled from assassins and was invited by General Shackler to hide and work here.  Sam Bine is not the only person in the story who recognizes his name when it is mentioned.  Cholly works as the bartender in the local tavern, discussing anything that will educate his customers, such as Descartes.

Cholly also runs the Wolmar Pharmaceutical Trading Company Inc, which trades materials requisitioned from off-world for “pipeweed”, a tubular grass-like plant that contains chemicals useful in the manufacture of certain valued drugs.  His experience includes working with a theatrical company, from which he acquired and learned to use some superior theatrical make-up which he uses to disguise Dar and Sam so they won’t be recognized by Bhelabher’s people.

Sam arrives on Wolmar expecting to see how the natives are being oppressed by the evil settlers, and is quickly impressed.  She then gives Dar the bad news, that someone named the Honorable Vincent Bhelabher has been sent to replace Shackler.  Bhelabher is a bureaucrat, formerly head of the BOA, whose move here is being couched as a promotion but might also be an effort to remove him from local access, because he has knowledge of the planned coup.

Cholly insists that this information not be delivered to Shackler, to preserve his ability to deny knowledge of it.  Instead, Sam and Dar set up a phony customs office with the help of a Wolman shaman of the Sars tribe, a known mind reader, who uses the name Reverend Haldane for the sting but is not otherwise identified.  During that customs inspection, the trio is able to cause all of the credentials and orders carried by Bhelabher’s group to become lost, putting Shackler and Bhelabher in the awkward position of having to send to Earth for confirmation of his claimed appointment.  However, Shackler’s work so impresses Bhelabher that he resigns his appointment and takes a job in information management in Shackler’s local government.  He needs someone to carry his resignation back to earth.  (Hyperspace makes faster than light travel possible, but not faster than light radio, so hand-delivered communications are necessary even when the communications are electronic in form.)  He also needs that person to alert the government to the conspiracy.

Bhelabher’s conspiracy includes the Electors Boundbridge and Satrap, one of whom is Minster of the Exchequer (we are never told which one), and a General Forcemain.  A set of memorized numbers calls up a file of hacked documents from the electors which proves the conspiracy; Dar is to deliver the file information to the Secretary-General.  He and Sam are given credentials, cash, and the promise of a return trip to Wolmar if they want it.  Dar is eager to see the luxuries of Earth, but Sam is reluctant to go until promised the return passage.

There are several good possible entry points for a verser.  He could arrive just before Shackler, finding himself on a prison planet whether within the compound or just outside.  He could watch the dismantling of the artillery and departure of the guards, the collapse into anarchy and then the tribalism of the gang collectives, the attack of the Wolmans that led to the arming of the prisoners by the gang leaders and their revolt against those gang leaders, then their election of Shacklerr and the beginnings of their constitutional democracy.  Alternatively, he could arrive after the developmental phase and be introduced to the backstory much as Sam is.

It would be easiest for the verser if he arrives in plain view of Shackler or Cholly, giving credibility to his claim that he is not a prisoner.  He could still maintain this claim based on the absence of records concerning him.  It will be most difficult if he arrives simultaneously with a prison transport.

Once Shackler recognizes that the verser does not belong there, he will offer to provide paperwork and transportation off-planet.  This provides an opportunity to send him with Dar and Sam.  It will also mark him as one of the telepath suspects, whether he leaves as part of their mission or simply travels on the same transport.

If the verser stays on Wolmar when Dar leaves, over the next year they will receive news of the telepath conspiracy and the shift to totalitarianism, and then transports will cease.  Shackler will establish contacts to resume private shipping for the import/export business, and Wolmar will settle into a democracy.

Act II:  First Flight

The hyperspace leg of the journey from Haldane IV to Wolmar took Sam a week and a half by freighter, but the return trip is made in a courier ship in only five days.  What Sam and Dar don’t know is that Canis has stranded the assigned pilot on Wolmar and is flying their ship into trouble.  They emerge from hyperspace and are ambushed by pirates.  They escape in a life boat with limited capability, but Dar flies it adequately to hide in the asteroid field in which the pirates had been hiding until police arrive, destroy the pirates, and rescue them in response to their distress signal.  It is at this point that Dar learns that Haldane IV is known locally as Falstaff; the police are local to that planet.

If the verser did not start on Wolmar and so depart with this ship, he could verse in here.  Since Dar and Sam know themselves to be the only passengers, he will have to explain his presence to them.  The pilot won’t check and the robotic stewards won’t care.  His explanation might be significant, though.  If they believe he might be psionic, he may eventually become the scapegoat if Dar reveals this.  (Sam probably won’t, in protecting telepaths like herself generally, but Dar does not reveal her as a telepath simply because he does not know.)

From that point forward, the verser will be marked as one of the telepaths.  Canis Destinus knows that two passengers left Wolmar but three were rescued by Falstaff police, and that to him will mean that telepaths are more powerful and more numerous than feared.

Act III:  Falstaff

Once rescued, Dar and Sam are delivered to the planet Haldane IV, which is known to those who live there as Falstaff.  Iron and all metals are rare, nails are cash, and wood, rare on many planets, is used for construction.  Everyone here is very fat, and all eat sausages constantly.

It is while waiting in a bar here that Dar and Sam meet Father Marco, then Ted Tambourin and Lona.  Dar falls for Lona immediately, much to Sam’s displeasure, but when Sam realizes that Whitey the Wino is Ted Tambourin, she becomes very interested in him.

Canis has by this time raised a police force of his own, which raids the bar during a staged brawl shortly after our quintet become acquainted.  They fight their way out, slipping through a basement crawlway into a brothel where the good Father has ministered, then in fresh clothes into the street where they are separated.  Sam and Dar escape the police mostly due to the help of some thugs who then take them prisoner to see Thalvar Sard.  These thugs would want also to capture the verser, if he came here.

Thalvar Sard is also known as The Syndic, head of the House of Houses, the leading crime syndicate in the galaxy, which happens to be headquartered not on Terra where everyone expects but here on Haldane IV where there are very few radios (due to the shortage of metal) and easily compromised police and authorities.  He has heard the rumors that one of them is a telepath, and at this point he figures it has to be one of these who just arrived from elsewhere.  He wants whichever one is the telepath to work for him; both deny any knowledge of telepathy, and he holds them prisoner.  It is at this point that Sam exercises her gifts in getting them out of their underground cells into the wilderness, and Dar gets them back to the city.

Sard, the Syndic, will be content to enlist either telepath, but would probably prefer to eliminate any suspected telepath who does not work for him.  He will not know how many are telepaths, but will not take chances.  He is not above making false promises to achieve his objectives, however.

The city is not particularly safe, because it’s crawling with police looking for them.  At this point, Sam takes advantage of her identity as a Hume and connects with the local Humes, who find it outrageous that the establishment is persecuting them and wonderful that they’re going to break the coming coup with their information.  One of them provides a hiding place for them.

They are discovered there by Myles “My” Croft (one of those mnemonics), mayor of Haskerville, by far largest town on Haldane IV thus making him de facto governor of the planet.  He is too fat to stand, and so rides in a hover chair.  He exhibits strong deductive reasoning, by which he locates them.  He also reasons that the best way to get Canis Destinus and his outside police force off his planet is to get Dar and Sam off first.  He thus sells that surplus scout ship to Tod, who is interested in fleeing the scene as well.  He would want the verser to leave, too, if he can find him; he at least wants Destinus to believe that any telepaths have escaped and fled.

If the verser initially arrives on Falstaff (verses in there), it might be tricky connecting him to the main story.  The best hooks are to introduce him early to either Father Marco or the Tambourins, and have him present for the fight and flight.  Other creative alternatives are plausible, but none are likely to draw him into the story.

If he remains on Falstaff, it will be similar to Wolmar.  Mayor Croft is anticipating the fall of the democracy, and expects to become de facto ruler here when his metal-poor wood-rich planet is divorced from the rest of the galaxy.  He has ships adequate to maintain some interplanetary trade, and knows how to manage his highly corrput society and the major crime syndicate that operates from it.  It is something of a seedy planet, with most illegal pleasures easily obtained.  It is evident that the overall obesity here is due to the diet, which includes the near constant consumption of sausages, and the verser who is not attentive will gain weight.

Act IV:  Second Flight

The now quintet (sextet if the verser has joined them) does not quite escape Falstaff cleanly, and when they enter the Terran system they are soon pursued by police ships seeking to kill or capture the dangerous telepath aboard.  They take significant damage, hide again in an asteroid field, and send out another distress signal.  Fess picks up the signal, and following his protocol brings the burro boat to their rescue.  The burro boat features a bachelor’s decor and a locker room scent, but has room and the necessary amenities.

Fess’ owner, an old asteroid miner, is never named.  He opposes the rescue, and is still arguing about it when he discovers that the crew of the stranded ship are all aboard his ship.  Tod bargains to buy his boat, and the miner accepts the deal thinking he got the better end of it, given the problems with Fess’ overloads.  He then sends word to Ceres City that he has been boarded by people who might be the criminals the police are seeking.  In exchange, Tod strands him in his own asteroid bunker with only an emergency beacon, and heads for Luna.

The verser could arrive aboard Ray of Hope (the escape ship).  The group would suspect him to be a stowaway and likely spy for one of the three factions they are fleeing (Mayor Croft, Syndic Sard, or Canis Destinus), and might threaten to space him if he can’t explain himself.  Assuming he gets through that, he will have time to win their confidence.  Failing that, he might be stranded with the miner.

He could arrive on the burro boat during the rescue.  This has interesting possibilities, because the miner would assume he came with the rescued, and the group would assume he was with the miner.  Fess would know, though, that he arrived by unknown means separately.  He would offer this information if asked, or if it became obviously relevant.  Fess would hold the data as “unexplained”, but a roll should be made to determine whether the explanation causes an overload shutdown.

He could arrive after the miner is stranded, which eliminates the possibility that they would strand them together but otherwise puts him in much the same position.

Act V:  Luna and Terra

Because Terra, that is, Earth, is so overcrowded, only ferry ships from Luna are permitted to land on it; thus the sextet come to Luna, the Moon.  There they begin building a plan to reach the Executive Secretary.

It begins by contacting Mr. David Stroganoff of Occidental Productions Inc.  He is a major studio executive who wishes he could educate the masses, but the masses want entertainment and expect that education ought to be dull.  Tod, who is a friend of his who has long resisted the pressure to go commercial, gives him a brilliant show script, and they quickly have things moving toward a vid production that will include an interview with the Executive Secretary.  This is still on Luna, where all the vid production companies have relocated for space.

Horatio Bocello, richest man on Terra, patron of the arts and especially Tambourin’s work, happens to own a controling interest in the production company, and so heard his friend Tod was on Luna, and phoned.  Tod and his other friends call him “Cello”.  He is described as a devout Catholic, tall and skinny with a thin long-jawed boney face with receeding iron-gray hairline, blade of a nose, burning eyes.  Sam is immediately struck by him.  Horatio believes there is no point in sex without love.  He plays Duke Horatio Loguire in their medieval reenactments, and becomes the same when they leave.

Before they reach earth, the Honorable Kasi Pohyola, Chairman of the LORDS party and Majority Leader in the Assembly of Electors of the Interstellar Dominions, is calling for an end to legal protections that protect telepaths (such as protection from unlawful search and seizure or the protections of due process and the requirement of probable cause and need for arrest warrants), and for the removal of the Executive Secretary Louhi Kulvero who is not acting aggressively enough to curtail legal protections in the effort to capture these dangerous telepaths.  The argument is put forward that since a telepath has made it all the way to Terra, he must have had help from other telepaths, and therefore there must be thousands of them throughout the galaxy working together against ordinary people.  Dar is stunned that such nonsense would be believed, but it is obviously building paranoia in the common people, all of whom are fearful that their thoughts might be being read.

Dar and Tod go alone to the meeting with the Executive Secretary, who is described as tall, white hair, craggy handsome face, dressed in modest coveralls.  Dar delivers the information exactly as it was given to him.  The secretary springs a trap and arrests them, and uses this to have himself voted emergency powers and the title Executive Director.  He has no interest in preserving democracy, but only in ensuring that when it collapses into a dictatorship he will be the dictator.

However, there is a genuine fear of telepaths underlying all this, and Dar is interrogated under heavily disorienting sensory stimuli to get him to reveal that he is the telepath or knows who the telepath is.  Since he doesn’t, he does’t crack.

Horatio Bocello arranges his rescue, sending in Father Marco with false credentials and two “torturers” from his medieval group, who in the pretense of taking him to where the real torture machines are located manage to bundle him into a car and get him to the ferry where Bocello and hundreds of emigres are waiting to flee to Luna and beyond.  The only one specifically identified is named Markone, who is also Baron of Ruddigore.  They also take Stroganoff.

Once on Luna, Sam joins Horatio and company.  Stroganoff hitches a ride with a promise that he can be dropped off at Wolmar, where he is eager to meet Cholly Barman.  Tod, Lona, and Dar reunite with Fess and head to Maxima, where Lona expects to be very happy becoming very rich using her computer talents, and she and Dar expect to change their names to d’Armand.  We know from the sequel that they did, had children, and kept Fess as a family heirloom for centuries.

It’s a bit late for the verser to enter here, unless the referee wants to use the fall of the democracy as a setting.  In that case, the character should hear Pohyola’s speech, with its fear of telepaths and push toward curtailment of all legal impediments to a police state.  From there, it’s mere days until the Executive Secretary announces what amounts to martial law and an open telepath witch hunt.  Whether on crowded Terra or environmentally enclosed Luna, he’ll have to hide and survive, or escape to the other planets.  This would be so, too, if he comes with the party and stays behind.

He could go with Dar, Lona, Tod, and Fess to Maxima, but unless he has remarkable computer or robotics skills he is unlikely to do well there.  If he hitches a ride with Horatio to Wolmar with Stroganoff, that will put him back in that scenario, detailed in Act I.

He could travel with Horatio’s people to create Grammarye, a medieval kingdom.  The sequel tells us that they succeed, and that Duke and Lady Loguire have descendants.  However, it must be made clear to him that going there means having his memory wiped and replaced with a false identity, and that it is not clear how or whether he could recover his lost knowledge.  The sequel, A Warlock In Spite of Himself, offers significant insight into Grammarye, despite being set centuries later.  That, though, is another article.

Up, Down, Repeat

June 28, 2010 in Blogs

The computer does not do well in the heat, and today has been hot enough that it has crashed multiple times.  It even crashed several times during my efforts to defragment the hard drive so as to stabilize it against more crashes, and that was after the office temperature, which had been around ninety-four, had cooled significantly following an abrupt downpour, to ninety-one.  It’s still ninety in here, so there are no promises that this is going to make it to the board–or that I am.  At one point the computer asked me if I wanted it to load in its last stable configuration, and I said yes, so it booted up DOS 3.0.  No, it didn’t, but that gives you my impression of Windows in a nutshell.

I did, however, manage to post the latest Examiner temporal anomalies article, The Lake House part 9:  ratcheting, looking briefly at the way in which each passing of letters slightly alters the history between recipient and sender.  There were also some comments I addressed yesterday, critical of the replacement theory approach being used, which I have mostly relegated to an answers article yet to be composed.

Speaking of yet to be composed, I have a first full set of notes on The Time Traveler’s Wife, and hope to begin pulling together the series for that this week, although I will probably have to watch it again to find some of those answers I don’t yet know that I don’t know.  I’ve also got what I think is a full draft of the next article in the Adapting series, and have completed notes on the one after that so I can start writing it.  So I’ve been busy despite the heat and its constant interruptions of my computing and word processing functions.

Let’s see if this will stay stable long enough to post.

–M. J. Young

That’s the Theory, Anyway

June 24, 2010 in Blogs

With all the time travel discussion that has of late filled the discussion forum here, it is perhaps appropriate that the latest Examiner temporal anomalies article should be heavily theory-oriented.  The Lake House part 8:  before you ask explains why it is that Kate can send a letter and get an answer immediately, but Alex will send a letter and never hear from Kate again until history repeats itself.

If there’s more to tell, I can’t recall it, and apparently I am now in a hurry.  That happens.

–M. J. Young

Avatar of Tadeusz

by Tadeusz

Cereal Novel: You Elsewhen: Bowl Six

June 22, 2010 in Blogs

An hour later, you have another of Bill Gate’s Home-cooked Delites. This time its a slice of country ham rolled around a filling of tomato relish, chopped up jalopeno, and black olives with a dessert of rhubarb pie.

You quench your thirst by walking over to the sink.

“Rise.” It lifts itself up to a convenient height to you. “Water.” You declaim. The sink begins to fill with room temperature water. You drink your fill from the faucet, and then thoughtfully say to it.

“Colder.” The temperature drops twenty degrees.

Now at last not panicked, not hungry or thirsty, and not too badly injured, and a lot dirty you have time to think.

A flash of light at your computer. Electricity and water did not mix you were only too aware.

Shivering you shove that aside for a less painful mystery. You can deal with that later you decide hurriedly.

The waitress had babbled in some foreign tongue and then served an omellette with parsnips. But you had been able to read the words on her menu.

And the water sink seemed to understand you. With a flash of memory you recall the police mini-copter chasing you, and yelling at you in good clear English.

Why was the writing and the machines English, but the people were not?

It made no sense.

The too-low toilet was run by a handle, but the sink and the freezer chests were run by voice command. And your voice is decidedly different than the locals.

Plus there was that dog that spoke clearly to you.

Your head is beginning to ache a bit, and you walk over to the sink and get water to gently slosh over your face and the scabbing wound.

Other needs make themselves apparent. Food that comes in, must come out. So you go to the bathroom, and for a second you stare at the strangely low toilet with the ruffle around it.

Curious, you decide, and with a small grin say a word.

“Up.”

The toilet rises to a height appropriate for an adult and not a toddler, and the fringe expands under the bowl to cover the new height from the floor.

Simple.

Once down, you go back outside. The toilet flushes on its own. And with a sudden grin, you understand part of it.

You’ve known more than a few girls who were embarrassed about their bodily functions being heard. So no one wanted to say ‘flush’, but other voice commands were standard.

Which still left the problem how the appliances understood the locals language which had to be somehow based on English, yours.

Experimentally, you speak one of the few Spanish words you know to the sink.

“Agua.” This meant water.

Water came.

What was Spanish for hot? Ah.

“Caliente.”

The temperature jumped about twenty degrees to a nice warmth. After stopping it, you tried the other English word for water.

“H2O.” Dihydrogen Monoxide flowed in a clear stream from the faucet.

You tried to think of another word for water, and all that came was ‘loch’ as in Loch Ness Monster. Loch was the Scottish word for lake.

“Loch.”

Nothing.

You cast about in your mind for some French or Russian or Japanese word for water, but nothing came. With your mind fully fixed on water, you grumbled trying to get a word out somehow.

The water flowed.

You stared in amazement. Apparently ‘rmgrph.’ qualified as water in some language. But that was highly unlikely you intuited with a chill wind going down your back.

You envisioned water again and spoke.

“Sinork.”

Water flowed.

“Masprit.” Water.

“Dokar.” Water.

And for the last test you envisioned as strongly as you could ‘Water’ while saying ‘Stop Water.’

Water flowed.

The sink was reading your mind.

Goosebumps ran up and down your arms, and your throat felt suddenly tight as you found yourself gently dropping to the floor to sit there for a while, rocking back and forth.

The sink had read your mind.

Ohhhh….wow.

Loose Ends, Middles, and Beginnings

June 21, 2010 in Blogs

I’m not certain how it was that I missed Eric Ashley’s latest article, In the Beginning, a silly musing on the creation of the universe that owes something to Gnosticism (the notion that the universe was accidentally created by mistake), but I noticed it today so I’ve read it and pass on to you that it’s there.  I’m pleased to see it; Gaming Outpost needs more articles from more writers, and Eric is reliably interesting.

My latest writing is elsewhere, but that’s the case twice a week as I continue my Examiner temporal anomalies series with The Lake House part 7:  the flag trick, as the movie’s time travel really starts getting warmed up and the characters begin to figure out what’s happening to them.

Concerning my Comcast problems, someone came to the house on Friday and managed to full get service (of the new limited sort) working in the living room.  However, the problem persists in the bedroom.  It appears to be a matter of the signal not being strong enough when it passes through the decade-plus-old wiring that connects the entire house, but my wife is not about to let a serviceman tramp through the house checking connections and such so that task will fall to less-well-equipped me when I can find the time.  I brought the DVD recorder out to the living room last night to record a show on one of the channels that don’t work in the bedroom (Leverage), but most of the shows I record (although not all that I watch) are on channels that are working, so I’ll be managing for a while.  I also got an e-mail back, not from the person who replied to the Blogless Lepolt entry but from whoever answers his e-mail.  It very politely said tough luck, live with it, you don’t really have any other options.  I wrote back and told them what technological solution would work, but I think they’ll probably have dropped it in the Cranks file by now, at least until I get cranky again and put them in the title of another blog post.

Avatar of Tadeusz

by Tadeusz

In the Beginning

June 19, 2010 in Articles

Just why are we here instead of nothing at all? Why is beer so common in all cultures associated with Womynity? Why are there electrons instead of cartrons?

The last one is easy I realized as I stared into my four or is it seventh cup? Cartrons would crash into each other and annihilate a good universe before it got started. At least that is what my car does.

And beer, golden beer, explains it all, even more than why you can’t live with them, and you can’t toss them off the nearest bridge.

There are those who say that the Universe began with a Bang and others with a Beginner. The Bangists, or Bangers, and Bangages…Bangi? They have a problem. No one really believes something starts without a Beginner to start it, not in their heart of hearts which is next to their empty wallet and above their temporarlily swollen tummy. On the other hand, and boy do I sound smart, just like my cousin the economist who gets paid big bucks to tell people what they want to hear, where was I, oh yes, on the other hand, the Beginners, they claim Yahweh or the Cosmic R did it. And they have strong support from Ol’ Ben who said … Beer was proof that God loved man.

Now these theories seem mutually exclusive. Almighty or Asinity *a big word mean stupid or something, Benevolence or Bad Luck, Creator or Chance, Designer or Dice, Effector or Eventual, Forever or Food for the worms, God or Goo, Heavenly or Hoggish but Intelligent Hogs, I AM or I I I, Jesus or Jump off the bridge in despair, Kill as in Thou Shalt Not Murder or Kill Crazy, Love or Luckless, Man the Noble or Man the Manimal…

Let me get another cup. Ahh. Parched I was after that long and rather beautiful oration, if I do say so myself.

But I have had a vision. What if we could combine the two ideas, Accident and Action of the deliberate kind. Instead of Bang and Beginner we have Burp.

In the mists of eternity past (actually it was smog from the cigs…) Mick the Mighty liked to hang out in a bar with his beer in his never emptying mug, and with the dancing girls he created to pass the time with. Now some might say that Mick was an Irishman like meself, but its not true. See there were no Irish yet. You got to keep up.

One particular span of time before time Mick had just finished a particularly huge gulp of beer. And then one of his pleasure girls jumped on his lap.

Out came the most prodigous Burp.

It was our universe in proto-universe form. Now Mick had to be All Mighty because a Universe is a really big thing.

Unlike the Greek gods who came after him, who liked a good drink too, Mick was Power. See, Apollo might scorch the Earth with his Chariot, or close the doors of the sun. Zeus could do even worse, or was it Jupiter. Oh well. If they put a bit of work in to it, any of the Greek’s gods could have destroyed the Earth, and some of them could have managed for the Sun.

But Mick’s proto-universe as it wafted away from him held hundreds of thousands of potential suns in a galaxy, and then the galaxies were in cluster with one cluster named after the coolest of those gods, Hercules, was he a god? Anyways, Hercules Cluster had five hundred galaxies, and then there were superclusters of clusters. Mick totally pawned Zeus, not that they weren’t good drinking buddies. Its just Zeus would throw a lightning bolt to get good service, and Mick would throw a quasar.

And Mick was all knowing as well. After all, a universe is chock full of information. That has to come from somewhere.

But Mick is not a patient fatherly Creator. No, he’s a burper. The girl on his lap squealed in laughter at the Burp, and so Mick used his Divine powers to swirl it around a bit. Then he forgot about that and bent to more pleasurable activities. Not that he was unaware of what happened being all knowing but he was good at ignoring things. Imagine your wife made you mow the lawn right before you were to watch the big game. You come in, hot and sweaty, crack open a beer, and plunk yourself down on the nice couch. You know at some level that later the wife is going to screech at you about ruining her red paisely wondercouch, but right now, you don’t care. Similar.

How godlike is man, in form and conception.

Good Ol’ Will, he knew something, and he liked beer too.

Now we turn from Mick to the proto-universe. Here it is. The basic laws are life-giving because Mick is alive.

This is a huge break because the odds of finding a universe where electrons and life can exist are roughly one in ten, ahem, one in ten followed by ten thousand zeroes, give or take a dozen. I didn’t pay much attention in my math classes, but even I know that’s way worse odds than winning the Powerball.

And the universe is swirling in a metaphoric sense which means energy. It explodes, particles race out making space-time exist with their presence. For unknown reasons, the particles that are racing outward decide in committee to wobble toward each other after a bit.

Presto. Interstellar gas. Except there are no stars to be between about. So, its just gas.

Gravity kicks in for some reason, and things begin to condense and swirl. After a while through a process shrouded by time and illogic gas becomes gas engines also known as stars.

The stars are spinning, probably because they like too. And so the remnants of such spin around them. Of course, some spin in opposite directions and others rotate totally opposite.

And frankly, no one, not me, not any scientists, no one but Mick has a clue as to how this happened. Our best theories say it did not happen. Which is comforting because that means I’m not here, and I don’t have to go to court for my Duh-dud-dumb lecture about automobile usage and alcohol consumption. Can’t a guy catch a break?

Anyways. So there are our planets. Dead as doornails which is just wrong because doornails have lots of life. For one they are covered with bacteria, and for two, there was the time last Christmas were one talked to me.

Planets. Dead. No life. Lightning bolts flashed and amino acids formed at irregular intervals of a billion and twenty-seven years to a billion and twenty-two years, but the amino acids were promptly denatured because they lived in a toxic soup and they had no cell wall to protect them because cell walls were not invented by Mick yet. Not that he was bothering. There was a new pleasure girl and the old one was throwing crockery.

But then the magic happened is what my boss likes to say in that sarcastic voice of his when he questions one of my brilliant plans. A time traveller came back from the future, and the traveller was how to put it…drunk as a skunk.

He Burped. Out of his mouth, his lungs, and perhaps his nose flooded cells. These cells might have been scared, but they too were drunk and thus they did what drunks do, and they began having children willy-nilly with no thought to the future.

There my friends is the beginning of the Human Race or as I like to call it, Womynity. Now you may object that a time traveller creating himself is not logical. You may proclaim that the fact that Science works to tiny, teeny decimal places proves the universe is rational, but I have the perfect counter.

The universe is not rational because my boss denied me the pay raise I deserved. I think I will go tell him that because after all, I’m the man who invented Beer Time-Travelling and caused the existence of the Human Race. You would think he would be grateful. The bar has not quite closed yet, so I’ll have a few more then I’ll drive over to his house and explain it to him.

Avatar of Tadeusz

by Tadeusz

Cereal Novel: Fifth Bowl

June 17, 2010 in Articles

Noise from the alley, a tuneless whistling jerks you awake in your stolen cot in the basement where you had been driven by pursuing police mini-copters. Opening your eyes hopefully, you see by the pink floor through the doorway that this is no nightmare. Just two or was it three days ago, you were a respectable citizen with the worst thing on your record driving ninety on an interstate. Now you’re a hunted fugitive in Insane Land.

Your stomach growls reminding you that its used to regular sustenance. Sighing, you get up, use the facilities after crouching low enough to get to them, and then turn on the clothes washer to rinse your hands and then use the same hands to fill your face with water. Slightly squeamish, you try not to think about bacteria and fecal contaminants. You had heard somewhere, probably in a Times magazine that Arabs used their left hand for neccessaries, and their right for eating. Now you understand the logic, and wish you had thought of this five minutes ago.

Examining the mess of your left forehead with delicate fingers you decided its coming along nicely. Happily it does not seem infected. A bit of a scab seems to be forming, and you jerk your hand back from the instinctive urge to pick at your wound. It had bled a lot, and there was no need to see if your blood was still red you hoped. That was a crazy thought, but it comes back to you.

What if I’m not human any longer? Maybe Crazy Land changed me somehow, and in three days time, which might be tonight, I’ll rise a werewolf or something.

Probably a were-gerbil you decide with a laugh that echoes eerily through the two room space. It renders your loneliness apparent. Loneliness, plus fear, plus pain, plus lack of food, no wonder you feel a bit unhinged you decide.

Relaxing you prowl the basement further, looking for some little clue you may have missed before.

Before you can get really serious, the door at the top of the fake wood stairs opens. Darting swiftly before the outsider’s eyes can adjust you scamper into the second room, and look about for a hiding place as footsteps plod down the stairs.

There’s nothing for it, but to crawl under the cot. Its a pitiful hiding place, and you make ready to leap to your feet.

A clack, some rustling from the other room, and then the most divine scent sends your stomach rumbling and your saliva glands drooling. Corn on the cob, steak, and mashed potatoes wafts through the doorway to your seeking nose. Almost you get up, but you restrain yourself.

And a good thing you do because a pair of feet attached to some magnificently hair legs trods past you, enters the bathroom, and flushes. A sound of rushing water follows that, and then the feet make their reappearance on the way out. Shortly thereafter a slower step up and a lessening of the good smell lets you know what’s coming. Its not a surprise when the door opens and slams shut. Shortly thereafter, you hear that tuneless whistling noise again.

Deeply hungry, you untangle yourself from the cot in too much of a hurry, and only succeed in making it worse.

Calm down, you say, and force yourself not to move for ten seconds.

With that, you’re able to extricate yourself, and then right the cot before entering the stairway room.

The fading scent assures you it was not a dream.

But, with head aching you see no evidence of where it came from.

You look closely at the dwarf sinks, and realize they have bendable arms underneath them, almost parrallel to the ground and just touching the sink base. Perhaps if they straightened out, they might be of a right height for you.

But this brings food no closer.

Looking at the native art boxes, you spot something. In the swirl of the trees, between the monkeys and the velociraptor hunting them is a word in squirrelly text.

“Bridgestone.”

Was it a tire box? Or was it like the Ikea clothes washer, an almost normal weirdling?

Not getting anywhere, you think, and decide to check in on the bathroom again. There is merely a toilet with a ruffled fringe near the floor. A large basin tank is behind it.

Narrowing your eyes, you realize the top part of the tank has a nearly invisible white on white line in it.

Pushing on the line, you are surprised when it swings inward and up like a door flap at a fast food trash bin.

Inside, soapy water flows from the top, and drops down into a drain into the bottom part of the tank.

Ingenious to save water that way, although you’re not sure how sanitary a combined sink over a toilet is.

The water soaps up your hands, and then the water changes to fresh water and you rinse your hands.

Now clean, you head back to the other room, and attack the problem with determination. The problem is, without food, its hard to stay focused for long.

You search for latches, for hidden buttons, and nothing.

“You stupid box! Open up!” You pound the box with a pair of open hands.

It pops open.

Inside is a freezer full of large plastic bags with pictures of food. Ecstatic, not willing to trust your good fortune, you grab the first one before something weird happens and takes the bounty away.

Ripping the cold bag open, you look for a microwave you don’t have, and wonder how you’re going to eat this.

But then the smell of hot roast beef, and broccoli with Swiss cheese and pumpkin pie overwhelms your questions.

You look more closely at the bag.

“Self-heating.”

“Remove balloon tray and inflate.”

Wondering you pull out what looks like a wadded up bit of plastic with a blowhole. A few quick puffs,and you have a serviceable plastic bladder in the sshape and size of a dinner plate. A spork of plastic is next to it.

The food is good, spiced by hunger.

And looking the now empty bag over you see that it claims that it contains ten thousand forty-seven calories. And that its based on a recipe passed down from the grandmother of the wife of Bill.

A thumbnail size pic of Chairman Bill, in a straw hat with a straw between his teeth advises you to enjoy his food for its a Microsoft product.

Get Jack Back

June 17, 2010 in Blogs

I had a lot of ideas for the title of this Blogless Lepolt entry, but at the last minute I ditched the bit of a controversial word and went with something simple.  I come from posting the latest Examiner temporal anomalies article, a consideration of the impact their common pet Jackie has as she enters history and starts working to bring them together, under the title The Lake House part 6:  they got a dog.

In other news, the new digital adapter device I had to install yesterday is not working properly, and Comcast is going to have to send someone out tomorrow afternoon to disrupt our lives and attempt to find the problem.  There aren’t a lot of good options here, which only increases my ire.

I’ve got a few other things on my plate today, though, so I’d best be about them.

–M. J. Young